


Desires Undreamed Of

by amyfortuna



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (Minor) Pregnancy Kink, F/M, Fingon | Findekáno/Elenwë/Turgon of Gondolin (fantasy only), Masturbation, Multi, Overhearing Sex, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 23:03:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6726952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fingon just wants to sleep, but Turgon and Elenwë have something else in mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desires Undreamed Of

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [merryismaytime2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/merryismaytime2016) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> On the Ice, Turgon and Elenwe are, er, "huddling together for warmth." Fingon fails to ignore them as completely as he'd like and winds up taking matters in hand.

They're only a few days into the long journey over the Ice, and tents are already beginning to grow scarce. Before long, Turgon gives his tent away to one of his followers who'd lost hers when the ice cracked. She was lucky to survive, but lost everything she was carrying. 

Turgon, Elenwë , and Idril move into Fingolfin's tent. It was roomy enough with Fingon, Aredhel, Argon, Lalwen, and Fingolfin himself, but with eight in a tent designed for five, it was...well, cosy. 

It's soon after they've stopped marching for the day, though there is no way to tell time in this frozen wasteland. Fingon sets up the tent by himself - Aredhel and Argon are out hunting, Lalwen and Fingolfin discussing the next day's route by the fire, with Idril listening in, and Turgon has gone with Elenwë to check that all their followers are well and have what they need.

Fingon is exhausted. He'd not slept half as much as he should have the few times they've stopped so far, so once the tent was set up, furs unrolled in their customary sleeping positions, he crawls into his own set of furs at the very back of the tent, and curls up, trying to get warm using only his own body heat and the warmth of the furs. 

Sleep eludes him. He lies there bored, vaguely listening to the sounds of the camp going on around him. He can hear Idril laughing when the hunters return, and Aredhel's joyful voice, so they must have been lucky. He half-wonders what they caught, but can't bring himself to emerge from the little cocoon of heat around him to see. He hears Turgon's deep warm voice and Elenwë's lighter, higher one. They both sound like they're in a good mood. Fingon smiles, letting himself drift off a little. 

He's dozing lightly when the tent flaps open, and Turgon and Elenwë tumble into the tent together, laughing breathlessly. He can't see them, but it's clear what they are well on the road to doing, and he wants to move, wants to alert them that he's there, but can't bring himself to. If they don't see him and he can't see them, what's the harm? Might as well let them have their fun. 

Turgon closes the tent doors firmly, and spins back, laughing, to pin a giggling Elenwë under himself. "We should be quiet," he stage-whispers, and they both break out laughing again. Fingon hears the wet sounds of kissing, followed by the whisper of cloth over skin - probably not all their clothes, that's asking for frostbite. He can't help picturing the image in his mind - Turgon with his trousers shoved down to his knees, Elenwë with her leggings off and her skirts pulled up, atop him, her blonde hair falling out of its braid, so long it's brushing Turgon's knees as she lowers herself down onto him. 

The image is a stirring one, and Fingon finds to mingled heat and horror that his cock is growing hard. He reaches down, discreetly, and brushes a hand over it, but that only makes the problem worse, and as the tent fills with wet, slick, sounds, the smell of arousal, and the mingled moans of his brother and sister-in-law, he puts his hand into his trousers, and takes his cock out. 

He's not even sure which of them he's turned on by more - tall Turgon, cock sized to match the rest of him, or dainty Elenwë, light and lithe - he only knows that the sound of them together is a fever raging in his blood. In Valinor this would have been beyond consideration, completely taboo, but they are not in Valinor anymore, and Fingon can't help himself - he only know that he wants...

He wants what? To be pinned between them, to move inside Elenwë while his brother wraps a strong arm around him from behind and thrusts into him? To kiss Elenwê's slender body all over, her small breasts, the faint swell of her belly, her warm thighs, the slick wetness of her cunt? To take Turgon into his mouth, still dripping with juices from Elenwë's body, and lick him clean, bring him off hard and fast down his throat? 

His hand moves faster on his cock, and he's listening without shame now, picturing himself throwing back the furs covering himself, and wading in, pressing into Elenwë alongside Turgon until they both exploded inside her, until - even - they got her pregnant and she didn't know which of them it was. The thought is beyond words and he nearly moans aloud at it. 

Everything deliciously taboo seems to be spilling into his mind - all the desires he never even dreamed might dwell inside him. He pictures himself inside her, inside him, Elenwë sitting over his face so he could lick her while Turgon plowed into him in much the same way he was doing now to Elenwë. They're no longer in a tent - they're in a palace - in warm sheets and pleasant surroundings - and there is Light, light all around them, Elenwë shining with it, Turgon laughing in it - and he can't hold on any longer - 

He comes at the same time they do. Turgon sighs quietly, muffled, and Elenwë's cry is less restrained as she groans Turgon's name. Fingon has enough wits left to clap his free hand over his mouth, and his cry of release is stifled. He spills over his hand in hot jets, remembering at the last second to avoid getting anything on the furs. 

Afterwards, he licks his hand clean, for want of any other way of getting rid of the mess. Behind him, Turgon and Elenwë are lying together, speaking so softly he cannot catch the words. He tucks his cock back into his trousers, and almost immediately falls asleep. 

When the bells that call the camp to get ready for another march sound, he wakes with a vague sense of shame, and the feeling that everything which took place last night was little more than a dream. Turgon and Elenwë certainly don't seem to have noticed he was ever there - they're in especially good moods, laughing and joking with the family, and Fingon feels his spirits rise. Surely it won't be long now until they reach the other side.


End file.
